Returns
by Vampire-Badger
Summary: Sequel to Relations. An accident with the apple brings Altair back to the twenty first century, trapping him in a child's body and giving him a second chance at a normal life. Or maybe not so normal- it's still his life, after all. When are things ever allowed to be simple?
1. Chapter 1

**This starts about five minutes after the end of Fostering Relationships, so if you haven't read that, you probably should.**

-/-

September 1191

-/-

Altair stumbles and falls back against the stone wall, eyes shut tight and chest heaving as he pants for air. Using the apple is difficult, impossibly difficult, and Altair realizes abruptly that speaking to Desmond was too much, too soon. He's only had the apple for all of about an hour. He's tired, mentally and physically, and not at all ready for the chaos that will be sure to follow.

For just one second, he allows himself to make a stupid wish, because there was exactly one time in his life when Altair truly felt safe. When there was no need to prove himself or push until he was the best.

He'd been four years old at the time.

Altair has never regretted his return to Masyaf from New York. This place is his home, and the others in the brotherhood are his family. Desmond has never been anything but a long faded memory, until today. And then, when he thought he'd lost everything to Al Mualim's betrayal, the memory had come rushing abruptly back from some long forgotten corner of his brain.

Altair knows now that he shouldn't have used the apple to talk to Desmond, but it's too late. And now that the memory is in the forefront of his mind, he can't force it away again. And for only a moment, he can't keep himself from wishing he was four years old again, and back in a time when he felt safe. It's only for a second, but it's a wish he makes with all the strength he has, and he's still holding the apple in one hand.

That's his mistake.

-/-

October 30, 2012

-/-

Desmond wakes in the back of a van, feeling better than he has since the day he was first kidnapped by Abstergo. There's a sense of closure now that was missing before, and he legitimately feels like an enormous weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Whatever happens next will be something he can handle.

Shaun and Rebecca notice the change immediately, although he can tell by the startled looks they keep giving each other that they don't understand. Maybe they hadn't seen the conversation between himself and Altair in the animus. Maybe it hadn't even happened. At this point, Desmond isn't ready to ignore the possibility that it was all in his head, but he's decided this is good enough for now.

Not even the unexpected presence of William Miles can ruin this moment. He's there with them, cold and distant as Desmond remembers from his childhood at the Farm, but Desmond barely even notices.

He and Shaun take the first load of supplies into the temple together, carrying the load between them. Rebecca follows, lugging a box of her own, while Bill stays by the van to make sure the area is safe. It's a beautiful day out, one of those early fall days where the cold feels refreshing instead of bitter, and the work goes quickly.

When they get back to surface level, though, something is different. Desmond is actually within sight of the van when he realizes someone's in the van with William. There's a sound that could almost be laughter and Desmond suddenly feels something small and forceful crash into his legs. A pair of tiny arms wrap themselves around him and it's all he can do to keep from falling over.

He glances down and feels all the breath go out of him because there's Altair in front of him, looking exactly the way he had on the day Desmond had been kidnapped by Abstergo. Except that's impossible in a thousand different ways, and it's impossible to keep himself from scrambling uselessly for answers that aren't there.

Then his brain shuts down and instinct kicks in. He kneels down and wraps his arms around Altair in return. For a long moment they stay like that, ignoring the other three, until finally Desmond draws away slightly. He studies Altair with a critical eye, although he's not quite sure what he's looking for. At first glance, Altair had seemed exactly the same as in Desmond's memory, right down to the purple gym shoes he'd worn everywhere.

But now that he's looking more closely, he can see the small differences. There's a scar on Altair's face that Desmond knows from the animus but not from his own memories, and his eyes are sad in a way that doesn't look right in a child's face. Desmond frowns at him, then gently grabs hold of his hand and examines it- four fingers. The middle one is missing.

"What happened to you?" Desmond asks.

Altair doesn't answer, just holds up his other hand, the one Desmond isn't holding. His fingers are gripped tight around a cold metal sphere that Desmond knows all too well- an apple. "Sorry," Altair whispers. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," Desmond says, even though it isn't, even though he has no idea what's going on here. He can make a guess- Altair's missing finger, the scar on his face, even the weary look in his eyes all tell Desmond that something strange is going on here. It's as if the apple has shrunk Altair's adult body, giving him a second chance at youth. The only question is what's happened to his mind.

"Desmond?" He looks up to see his father frowning down at the pair of them. For once, however, the frown is one of confusion rather than displeasure. "What's going on here?"

"I-" There are all sorts of possible answers to that question, but Desmond doesn't much want to tell the truth. He knows that he should, if for no other reason than this being assassin business. Had Altair reappeared as an adult instead of a child, Desmond would not have hesitated. Possibly a little, just to spite his father, but he would have said something in the end. This situation is different though, because if Altair's mind has gone back to being as childlike as his body, then Desmond's most important job is to protect him from anyone that might want to use him for their own purposes. And that includes his father.

"He's my son," Desmond lies, and it's not hard to sound convincing. For several weeks after Altair first showed up in his apartment, their similar appearances had led Desmond to think he _was _Altair's father.

Altair looks up at him and frowns, and Shaun starts to say something from behind Desmond, but then doesn't. Of course everyone else- everyone other than Bill- knows that Altair is Desmond's ancestor and not his son. No one says anything, though. Later, Desmond knows there will be words, but that's definitely not a conversation for right now.

"Your son," Bill repeats, in a voice like he can't quite believe it. "What's he doing here?"

"I have no idea," Desmond says, which is at least the truth. "The last time I saw him was in the city, the day Abstergo took me."

"He can't stay here," Bill says.

Desmond frowns. "He can't go anywhere else."

"This is no place for a child," Bill snaps. "This is no _life _for a child."

Desmond stares at him, suddenly angry. It takes him a few seconds to get himself enough under control to answer calmly. "It was a good enough life for me when I was a kid, apparently," he says. "You never cared-"

"And you left," Bill snaps. "Nine years, and none of us knew if you were alive or dead."

"Not to interrupt the, ah- family reunion," Shaun interrupts, "But we're just a bit exposed up here. Can we maybe just relocate and do this later?"

"Yes," Bill says, and moves back toward the temple with Rebecca and Shaun, carrying the last of the supplies. That gives Desmond a few minutes alone with Altair, but only a few. As soon as the others are out of sight, Desmond turns on Altair.

"Tell me what you're doing here," he tells him. "Now."

Altair frowns, and studies the ground like the dirt and rocks are suddenly fascinating. "You're mad," he says.

"No," Desmond says. "But I really need to know."

Altair shrugs.

Desmond looks down at the apple in his hand, and sees Altair flinch slightly. "Was it this?" he asks. "Do you remember?"

"Yea…" Altair looks up, finally meeting Desmond's eyes. "I just wanted to come back," he says. "Don't send me away."

He looks like he might be about to cry, and Desmond realizes at once that he has no choice. He can't return Altair to his own time and place, and he can't help him back to the right age, either. "I won't send you away," he promises. "But you have to make me a promise, okay?"

Altair nods, looking serious. "What?"

"You can't tell anyone where you come from," Desmond says. "Alright? That's really important." Shaun and Rebecca already know, but Bill doesn't, and Desmond understands how his father works. If he knew that this Altair is the same as the Altair from the past, he will do everything he can to use that knowledge. And he'll use Altair, too.

"Okay."

Desmond picks Altair up and heads to the cave. They're nearly there when Altair asks, "So do I have to say you're my dad?"

"Just for now," Desmond tells him. "I'm sorry, but it'll be easier until everything gets figured out."

"S'okay," Altair says. "I don't care." He goes strangely quiet then, which worries Desmond, but he doesn't have time to ask questions before they reach the main room of the temple, and suddenly there are too many people around to say anything.

-/-

October 30, 2012 (Later)

-/-

Altair shrinks into the shadows of the temple as Desmond starts to argue with the older of the two men. It sounds like they might be father and son, but right now Altair doesn't care enough to find out for sure. His head is mixed up and foggy, and it's impossible to think straight. It's hard to concentrate, and he's feeling things he hasn't felt for years and years. All the self-control and discipline he's worked to master over the years have been stripped and he feels…

He feels like a child again.

He also feels like he's going to cry, and he presses his fist angrily against the nearest wall as hot tears start to form in the corners of his eyes. It's been years since he cried, but right now he's powerless and small and his face is wet. He really wants to see Desmond again, but he's too busy arguing right now. So instead, Altair tucks himself into a corner and waits for his head to stop spinning. It hasn't quite settled when he realizes someone's headed his way.

It's the man with the red hair, not the older man with the watching face. Looking at everyone to see who's going to do something wrong first. That man watches the redhead as he stops a few feet away from Altair, but doesn't make a move himself.

"So," the man says. He moves uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and his eyes look everywhere but straight at Altair. "Hello."

"Hi." Altair tips his head up, but otherwise doesn't move.

"So, um…" He glances back over his shoulder, but no one's paying him any attention. "My name's Shaun." He gestures at the other three. "That's Rebecca, Bill, and- you know Desmond, yea?"

Altair nods. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," says Shaun, still looking away. That's how Altair finds out that Shaun is a very bad liar. Of course there's something wrong with Desmond- he's spent the last half hour or so lying still as the dead on what looks like a tacky red chair on the other side of the room. He could be sick or injured or worse, and the fact that no one wants to tell him makes Altair think it must be really bad.

"Fine," he says, and jumps to his feet. Shaun half opens his mouth, but Altair is off and running before he can get a word out. He doesn't leave the temple, because he has nowhere to go, but there's plenty of corners within the cave to hide in, and Altair tucks himself into one of them, a small cranny where no one can reach him.

-/-

October 30, 2012 (Evening)

-/-

As usual, Desmond feels like shit when he comes out of the animus, but this time it's worse, because his dad's waiting there with an absolutely impassive look on his face. Not the best sight to wake up to. Desmond knows that face well; it's his dad's bad news face, the one he only wears when he's gone right through angry and out the other side. It's an expression Desmond saw many, many times before running away from the farm.

"What'd I do this time?" He grumbles. Everything hurts, inside and out, and he's not in the mood for this.

"Nothing," Bill says.

"Then why-"

"We need to have a discussion," Bill interrupts. "About your- your son."

"Right," Desmond mutters, rubbing at his eyes. "Altair."

"That's his name?" Bill asks.

"I didn't give it to him," Desmond says, because it's true and also because William's giving him a skeptical look that pisses him off.

"How can you act this irresponsibly?" William demands. "Half the time I could swear you're still a child yourself."

"Only when you're treating me like one," Desmond says, and watches his dad's eyes narrow. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Climbed up somewhere," Bill says.

"Great," Desmond says, because this way at least he can go after Altair and his dad won't be able to follow.

He eventually finds Altair wedged into a corner of the temple (there are quite a lot of those), head in his hands, staring into empty space at nothing in particular. He looks up when Desmond sits down nearby, but doesn't say anything. Desmond lets the silence hang for a long time, more because he's not sure what to say than because of any other reason. Finally, Altair speaks up.

"This isn't okay, is it?" he asks.

"What?"

"I shouldn't be here," Altair says.

"No," Desmond agrees, after a moment of thought. "But you weren't supposed to be here the first time, either, and that turned out fine." He's been staring at his hands, but now he glances over at Altair again. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugs, then hunches his shoulders, almost defensively. There are no words, but his body language says more than words ever could, and Desmond has spent enough time with Altair and in his head to know what he means. "You can stay, you know," he says. "As long as it takes."

"As long as what takes?"

"Until you're ready to go," Desmond says. "Whatever that means." It's impossible to even guess how or if or when Altair will go back to his own time, but Desmond has no intention of driving Altair away.

Silence falls again, and for a little while Desmond is content to sit in absolute silence, back to the wall, staring at nothing, utterly lost in his own thoughts. Gradually, however, he starts to notice that Altair seems uncomfortable. He keeps fidgeting, glancing sideways at Desmond and then letting his eyes slide away. "Come here," Desmond says, and Altair willingly climbs into his lap. It feels right when Desmond wraps his arm around the boy, holding him close the way he used to before everything changed.

"I think I'm too old for this," Altair whispers, but the complaint is halfhearted. He almost sounds like he's asking to be contradicted.

"How old are you?" Desmond asks.

"Twenty six," Altair says, and Desmond has to keep himself from laughing at how small his voice suddenly sounds.

"And how old do you feel?"

Altair doesn't say anything, but the way he presses himself closer to Desmond tells him that the point has been made.

"I'm not going to judge you," Desmond says. "I'm here as long as you need me."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

-/-

October 31, 2012

-/-

"You should probably get some sleep."

Altair looks up from Desmond's motionless form, and finds Rebecca frowning at him. "It's not that late," he says, despite the protests of his body that tell him she's right.

"It's past midnight," Rebecca says.

"Can't I stay up until he's done?" Altair asks. He doesn't understand exactly what Desmond is doing in the animus, but he fully intends to get the story as soon as possible.

"It's going to be a while," Rebecca says. "But if you want to go lie down for a while, I can send him your way when he's done."

Altair realizes he's rubbing at his eyes, and stops. He's unimaginably tired, so he nods and slides off his chair, ready to head for the corner where he watched the bedrolls being set up earlier. Before he can quite turn his back on Rebecca, though, she calls him back.

"You should probably know- the animus- I mean, did anyone tell you what it's for?"

"Memories," Altair says. Desmond had given him a very brief rundown before getting into the machine. "Ancestral memories."

"Yea," Rebecca says. "We're looking for something, and we need to find it, before- well, the end of the world, actually." She offers a halfhearted smile, but it's obviously an effort. "Anyway, that's why Desmond needs to be in there, but there are side effects."

Altair glances nervously at Desmond, but he seems fine, like he could be sleeping. "What do you mean?"

"We're basically forcing another person's mind into his head," Rebecca says. "It's a lot easier to tangle two minds together than to separate them out again."

"So you mean… he might not be Desmond when he comes out?" Altair asks.

"It'll take a while," Rebecca says. "But eventually that could happen, yes."

"Oh," Altair whispers. So Desmond's going to leave him, too. He's going to be alone, again. "You're right."

"What?"

"It's time for bed."

This isn't Altair's first time sleeping on a cave floor, and it's definitely not the worst. This time there's at least blankets and pillows to soften the floor under him. Anyway, he's tired enough that he could have slept in a pit of lava, or on a bed of nails. He's barely on the ground before his eyes are shut, and that night he sleeps the sleep of the dead.

In fact, he's tired enough that he sleeps straight through the night, and most of the next morning as well. It's close to noon when Altair wakes up again. Desmond's in the animus, but when Altair asks, Rebecca assures him that Desmond did sleep the night before. "He went by to see you this morning," she adds. "But you were still asleep."

Altair nods, and climbs back onto the chair he'd claimed the night before, to continue his silent watch over Desmond. He's the only familiar thing here, and Altair can't help clinging to him like a drowning man. It's a childish action, but for the moment at least, Altair is a child.

The other three work around him, and as the day wears on with no change in Desmond's condition, Altair starts to watch them. Rebecca, he's already decided that he likes. She's the only one besides Desmond that's explained anything. She doesn't hide things from him just because he's a child, but she does her best to soften the blow when she has bad news. Altair shouldn't need that, but he just can't deal with it all right now.

Shaun's not bad either. His normal mode of communication seems to be sarcasm, and he's weirdly nervous around Altair, both of which are annoying. He claims he's just nervous because he's bad with kids, but Altair's already figured out that Shaun's a bad liar. It's way more likely that Shaun knows where he comes from, but he doesn't want to come out and ask, just in case he's wrong. Rebecca might know too- they both seem a little too accepting of his sudden appearance.

William, on the other hand, probably doesn't know. He's constantly angry. Not just about Altair being there, but apparently about everything. He stomps around the cave for most of the day before finally sitting down to have a talk with Altair. "So," he says. "You're my grandson?"

Altair squirms uncomfortably and glances at Desmond, still and unresponsive in the animus. Then he nods, just once, because even though that's a lie, it's one that Desmond asked him to tell. Anyway, it's the simplest possible explanation, and maybe that will make William go away faster. It's a weird feeling, being... not exactly afraid of the man, but definitely nervous. A couple of days ago he wouldn't have hesitated to tell the man exactly what he thinks of the unnecessary rudeness.

Except today, everything is different. It's hard to pick a fight when everyone around him is suddenly so much bigger than he is. Rebecca is the shortest of the group, and Altair barely comes up to her waist. Besides that, his mind feels… raw, like someone's ripped a giant bandage off it. All the years of carefully building up defenses, of learning to handle life when it gets difficult, are stripped away.

William's still watching him, apparently expecting something else, but Altair has nothing to offer. He shrugs and stares at the floor instead. "You could be a little more talkative," William grunts.

"Knock it off, Bill," Shaun says without looking up from his computer. Altair feels an unexpected surge of gratitude, but William ignores the comment. Instead of backing off, he studies Altair intently, head to foot, a judgmental frown on his face. Altair draws his legs onto the chair and curls his arms protectively around himself. Logically, he knows William isn't a threat, but logic seems to have flown out the window lately.

"Did Desmond tell you about me?" William asks. "Is that why you're afraid?"

"I'm not afraid," Altair bursts out, mostly because he thinks he is. It's not a huge fear, not like he's afraid William is going to threaten or hurt him. It's just nerves, and being so small.

"Good," William says. "But really. Did Desmond tell you about me?"

"He said you're an assassin," Altair says. It had been the only time Desmond had ever mentioned his past while they were in New York, actually.

"That's it?" William asks. He sounds honestly surprised at that. "I'd have expected worse, honestly."

"Why?" Altair asks. "Don't you like him?"

William opens his mouth, but closes it again without saying anything. Finally he manages an "It's complicated" before walking away to work on something else. Altair watches him go, feeling relieved and weirdly triumphant.


	2. Chapter 2

November 1, 2012

-/-

Normally, Desmond would have stayed in the animus for a little while at the end of a session before getting up. It helps to just lie still with his eyes closed for a while, shedding as much of his ancestors as he can before getting up. Today he doesn't bother with that, though, and he's on his feet as soon as the last sequence ends. Visions from the animus mingle disturbingly with the real world, and Desmond can see an impossibly real forest crowding out the temple. He groans and rubs his face, but the sight doesn't fade. Experience tells him that only time will help, but he doesn't have the time to let the hallucinations run their course.

He looks around, but the only people in sight are Rebecca and Shaun. He catches Rebecca's eye. "Where's Altair?" he asks, then adds, as an afterthought, "And my dad?"

"English, Des," Rebecca says, and he makes a face. It used to be that he could tell right away when his words came out in one of his ancestors' languages. This time, he doesn't even know which language he's speaking. Even more worryingly, it takes a couple of tries before he can get enough control of his own tongue to be understood.

Rebecca and Shaun don't say anything about it, though. They all know it's only a matter of time until he totally loses it, and there's no point in talking about it. It used to be hard to care, but now- "Where's Altair?" Desmond asks again.

"Sleeping," Shaun says. "Look, Desmond, are we going to talk about this?"

"That depends," Desmond says. He looks over at Shaun, then quickly away as a troop of redcoats march past behind him. They're not real, he knows they're not (and at least he still has enough sanity for that), but he still doesn't want to look at them. "Is my dad around?"

"He had to go out for some supplies," Shaun says. "Won't be back until morning."

"Good," Desmond says.

"But why are we keeping this a secret from him?" Shaun asks.

"Because…" Desmond hesitates, trying to find the right words. "When most people look at a kid, they see a person, someone that needs to be protected because they're too small to handle the world on their own. But when my dad looks at a kid, all he cares about is what he can make them into, how he can shape them. That's why I left. I had sixteen years of my dad treating me like a tool, something to be crafted into a weapon. It's not good for a kid."

"Can I just point out that Altair's not a kid?" Shaun asks. "He's a fully grown man who happens to be stuck in a kid's body. That doesn't make him helpless."

"I know," Desmond says. "But-"

Rebecca interrupts, a frown on her face. "I don't know about that," she says. "I mean- yea, I guess you're right, but have you been watching him at all today?"

"Not really," Shaun mutters. "I've been busy."

"Well, he's not acting like an adult," Rebecca says. "He's not just physically smaller, it's like his mind is younger too."

"That's ridiculous," Shaun says, waving a dismissive hand in Rebecca's general direction.

Rebecca glares at him. "It's not," she says. "Haven't you been paying any attention? This is all about the apple. Don't you think it could make someone feel like a kid again?"

"Maybe," Shaun admits. He thinks it over, then nods at Desmond. "You're probably right to keep him away from Bill, then."

"Right?" Desmond laughs. "A fully trained assassin with the malleability of a child? It'd be like all his dreams coming true at once."

"Alright," Rebecca sighs. "So we don't tell him."

"Thanks," Desmond sighs.

"But he can't stay here forever," Rebecca adds. "He needs to go back to his own time at some point. I mean, if nothing else, he has to have kids or you're never going to be born."

"Let's worry about paradoxes later," Desmond says. The visions of Connor's time are fading, but they're still faintly there, and it's annoying him. "It's not like we know how to do anything about it, anyway."

There are no more arguments, so Desmond excuses himself and goes after Altair. He finds him curled up in a pile of bedding, one tiny hand wrapped around his blanket. He opens his eyes when Desmond sits down next to him, squinting against the harsh lights illuminating the room. "Hi," he says. His voice is low and tired, and this time Desmond pulls Altair into his arms before he has a chance to protest. Days spent in the animus always seem to take longer than they should, and right now Desmond feels like he hasn't slept in a month. Maybe it's selfish, but right now he needs someone. Anyone. Just to prove he's really here and really alive.

Altair doesn't protest, just wiggles a little so he's in a more comfortable position, and turns his face upward to look at Desmond. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yea," Desmond says. The weird double vision from the animus has finally faded, so it's not technically lying. "I'm fine."

"Rebecca told me about the animus," Altair says, and Desmond sighs heavily. There's no reason she should have kept it a secret, but Desmond would have rather had that conversation with Altair himself. Altair watches him, then adds, "and I've been watching things."

"What did you figure out?" he asks.

"You're looking for something," Altair says. "You need to find it to stop the world from ending, but every time you use the animus you get a little closer to going crazy."

"That's pretty much it," Desmond says.

Altair studies him intently for a minute, then shoves himself away from Desmond. It's not a strong push, but it's unexpected and passionate. "You lied!" he says, and suddenly there are tears flowing freely down his face. "You promised you'd be here, but you won't! You'll be crazy and I'll be alone, _again_."

"No," Desmond protests. "Altair-"

The boy shakes his head and runs off, vanishing somewhere farther inside the temple. Desmond watches him, not sure what to do. The worst of it is that Altair is right- if the bleeding effect gets much worse, he will be leaving Altair, in a way, and that's not something he wants to do. And more than that, Desmond is worried- there had been a real desperation in his voice, a fear of being abandoned that hadn't been there when Desmond knew him in New York.

It suddenly strikes him, just how little he really knows about Altair. They lived together for about a year, and Desmond has been through some of his memories in the animus- but he still has no idea what happened in his life to make him so alone.

"It's hard, isn't it?"

Desmond jumps, because he hadn't even realized his dad had come up behind him. "What?"

William walks around so he's standing in front of Desmond. "It's hard to watch your son run away and know there's nothing you can do about it."

He's enjoying it, Desmond realizes. This is just an opportunity for him to say I told you so.

_Bastard_.

"You don't understand what's going on here at all, do you?" he asks.

"It doesn't seem that complicated to me," William says. "You resent me for being a bad father. Now you're getting a chance to try it for yourself and it turns out to be more difficult than you expected."

"I never thought it was easy," Desmond spits back. "I just thought you were bad at it." He feels the barest hint of satisfaction at William's dumbstruck face before he goes running after Altair.

-/-

November 1, 2012 (Later)

-/-

One advantage of being so small is that Altair can fit into places he couldn't have a week ago. The temple is a maze of tunnels and corners, half fallen in and stretching on for ages. Farther than Altair would have expected, but he's too upset to really keep track of where he is. That's probably why it's such a surprise when the tunnel drops out from under him, and suddenly Altair's scrambling down a steep slope into a cavernous, empty room.

Mostly empty.

There's a large, cylindrical… something in the middle of the room, and while Altair can't even guess what it's for, he can recognize that it hadn't been made by human hands. Of course, given that he's in the bowels of a precursor temple, that probably should have been a given.

It takes half a second to take all this in as he falls, then Altair tucks into a roll, shielding himself from the worst of the damage. It still hurts, but only in terms of bruises and scrapes. Nothing's broken, and he's still alive. That's good, but Altair barely has time to feel relieved before the machine in the middle of the room starts to glow.

He climbs to his feet and turns slowly, trying to figure out what's going to happen. For several long seconds, nothing does, and then the light flares abruptly. The whole room is bathed in blue, so bright it almost seems to be a solid thing, and within the blue, Altair can see blurry figures moving around, too distant to be clearly seen. Then someone much closer- a woman Altair has seen only twice before, and not in over twenty years.

The woman's name is Minerva. The first time they met had been the day Altair met Desmond- it had actually been her fault that he got launched through time. Some precursor experiment gone wrong, although Altair's never understood the details. The second time they met was the day he'd gone back to Masyaf, although that time it had been on purpose. That was when she'd introduced herself, apologized for bringing him there in the first place, and said she'd come to take him home. He'd argued, because at that point he hadn't wanted to leave, but she'd insisted. And then, Desmond hadn't come back…

He'd wondered for years and years why he'd been left behind that night, until finally he'd just accepted that he would never know. It had still hurt, though, until just recently when he learned that was the day Desmond was kidnapped by Abstergo. Knowing he hadn't been abandoned by choice was an unbelievable relief, at least until he learned about the bleeding effect, and that he was about to be left behind again.

Minerva frowns at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Where is here?" Altair asks, instead of answering, and Minerva chuckles.

"That's fair enough," she says, and gestures to the expanse of blue around them. "This is called an Infinity Machine," she says. "There were only three of them ever built."

"What are they for?" Altair asks.

"They show us the future," Minerva says. "And the past. And what could have been, but isn't."

"This is how I got from Masyaf to New York?" Altair asks.

"And back again," Minerva says.

"Oh." Altair glances again at the distant figures in the mist. "And who are they?"

"They are you."

"But _I'm_ me," Altair protests.

"You're the one that activated the machine," Minerva says. "And so, they are you from your past, and from your future. But they are also the versions of you that made different choices. The ones who went left when you went right. The ones who died young, and the ones that managed to keep themselves from accidentally time traveling." There's a hint of reproach in her voice, but she doesn't seem really angry.

"How many different versions are there?" Altair asks.

"Infinite," Minerva says. "It's an Infinity Machine. There are some versions of you that were born in the impossibly distant future, and some from the far past. There must be some where you were born female."

"A girl?" Altair makes a face. "Ew."

"Come on," Minerva says, and takes hold of his shoulder. "You really shouldn't be here."

"Is it dangerous?" Altair asks, more curious than afraid.

"It could be," says Minerva. "When you use the Infinity Machine, you can visit with any of the people that have used it, or who will use it, at any point in its timeline. That's how we're speaking now, but there are other people that might wish harm on you. You are technically trespassing."

"It's been deserted for years!" Altair protests, but knows even as he says it that this is a pointless argument when time travel is involved.

"And there are other dangers as well," Minerva adds. "It is possible to interact with the people you see here. You could change someone's future."

"Like you did to me when I first came to 2012," Altair says.

"Exactly. Now come on."

"Wait!" Altair wrenches himself out of her grip, then cranes his neck back to look her in the face. It's difficult, because he's very short at the moment, and she is impossibly tall. "If there are infinite versions of me here, does that mean there's a version of me that stayed with Desmond?"

Her face is emotionless, but Altair imagines he can see something soften in her eyes. "I'm sure there is," she says.

"Can I see?"

She hesitates, just for a second, then nods. "But then you leave. Alright?"

"Thank you," Altair says, then looks around them. "How does it work?"

"It's based on mental energies," Minerva explains. "Many of our technologies are. The Infinity Machine will take you to the version that you want to see."

As she finishes speaking, the blue light fades into something a lot more mundane, and Altair is suddenly watching himself, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, sitting at a table in a kitchen somewhere. Desmond's there too, across the table. It's not a special memory, as far as Altair can tell- an ordinary breakfast, nothing more. But there's something about the scene, something comfortable that makes Altair feel suddenly very sad. This is the life he could have had, a life without the constant threat of death, without the looming promise of Desmond's inevitable insanity. Just living an ordinary life.

"Alright," he says finally. "I'll leave now."

Minerva nods, but to Altair's surprise, doesn't vanish immediately. Instead, she looks down at him. "Is that what you want out of your life? Would you have been happy with normalcy?"

Altair shakes his head. "I could have been," he says. "If thing had been different. But- well, now I would know what I'm missing. But-" he hesitates. "There was something good in it, too. Desmond was okay."

"Well, that's not out of the question for this universe yet, is it?" Minerva asks.

"Isn't it?" Desmond and Rebecca had both implied it was unavoidable, and honestly, it's hard to see how Minerva could know much about the animus.

"Anything's possible, child."

"I'm not a child," Altair grumbles, but that's when the blue light abruptly vanishes, taking Minerva along with it. For just a second, before the Infinity Machine has completely powered down, Altair sees someone tearing across the room, a fading ghost running as fast as it can towards him. And he really shouldn't be surprised to see that the runner is him, not when there's an endless amount of him already there. But this is different, somehow, and the look on his own face sets alarm bells ringing in Altair's mind. Something is wrong.

But then he's suddenly alone in the empty room, with only the Infinity Machine for company. It hums quietly, even powered down, and the vibration sets Altair's teeth on edge. As quickly as he can, he scrambles for the wall with the hole in it, climbing up as fast as he can. He must be hurrying, because it takes hardly any time at all to get back to the main room. His hands and knees are scraped raw, but he barely notices.

He finds Shaun first, stumbling across him after only a few minutes.

"What happened to you?" the man asks.

"Nothing," Altair lies. "Where's Desmond?"

"That way," Shaun says. "But seriously, what-"

Altair takes off running and doesn't stop until he literally runs into Desmond, knocking him off his feet and falling to the ground with him.

"Hey!" Desmond says. "Calm down, alright? Tell me what happened."

But Altair shakes his head- he's not ready to go there yet, and he's not sure he can explain the Infinity Machine even if he tried. He feels Desmond checking him over, looking for injuries that aren't there. "They're just scratches," he says. "I'm fine. But I- Desmond, I shouldn't have run, it was stupid and I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Desmond says. "Don't worry about it."

"Were you worried?" Altair asks.

Desmond hesitates. "Yea," he says. "I know I shouldn't; I know you can take care of yourself. But-"

"I like when you worry," Altair says, then quickly backpedals. "I mean- I don't like that you're worried, but if I'm going to do something stupid anyway, I'm glad you're here to worry."

Desmond sighs, and Altair notices he looks exhausted. "Well, I don't like that you keep doing stupid things that make me worry, alright? I'm in the animus all day, and I can't keep an eye on you."

"Sorry," Altair says again. "I promise that I'll only do stupid things when you're around, alright?"

"Good enough," Desmond laughs. "And for the record, I'm sorry too. I should have told you everything at the beginning. I shouldn't have promised not to leave when I know I'll probably be crazy by the end of the year."

"Don't say that," Altair says. "Don't. I'm not going to let that happen."

Desmond almost looks like he's going to say something, then he sighs and gets to his feet. "Come on. I think it's time for bed."

-/-

November 4, 2012

-/-

Sundays have always been Desmond's day off from the animus, but he keeps this from Altair on purpose. It's probably a little cruel, but it's worth it for the smile on the kid's face when he wakes up and finds out that it's a day off.

"Can we go somewhere?" he asks. "I know there's templars looking for you, but they can't be looking everywhere, can they?"

"Sorry," Desmond says. "It's too much of a risk. If the templars find out about the temple, we're all screwed. They're looking for me everywhere."

"The rest of us have a little more leeway though," William interrupts. "We could-"

"No," Altair says, and runs off before William can say another word. It's all Desmond can do to keep from laughing at the sight, at least until he glances over at William and notices the look on his face.

"What did you do to turn him against me?" he demands.

"Nothing, I swear," Desmond says. "I think it's probably your personality that did it."

"You selfish piece of shit!" William slams his fist onto the table in front of him. "You act like you're the only one that gets to have opinions about Altair! You're the same immature brat you've always been, only now you're dragging a kid into it, and he's the one that's going to suffer for it!"

"Yea." Desmond knows even before he says the words that he's being petty but he really can't help it. "But then you'd know all about dragging kid into shit that's none of their business, wouldn't you?"

"Oh grow up, would you?" William snarls. "Or are you going to hold that over me forever?"

"I was planning on it, yea."

"All I want is a chance to know my grandson," William says. "And I know damn well that if we all make it through this, you're going to take him away first chance you get and I will never see either of you again!"

"Screw you."

"He's my-"

"He is not your grandson!"

The only sound in the room is Shaun picking up his things and very, very quickly getting out of the path of the oncoming shitstorm.

"What did you just say?" William asks.

"You heard me." There's no point in denying it now, even though Desmond desperately wishes he could take the words back. He curses himself for an idiot, but it's probably inevitable. He's never been able to keep himself from saying stupid things to his dad. "He's not your grandson, because he's not my son."

"You told me he was," William says.

"Because he might as well be," Desmond says, and realizes that, weird as it sounds, the words aren't a lie. "I found him, or he found me- I don't know, but the point is that he's the most important person in my life, okay? He needed me, and I needed someone to need me. All those things you like to say about me- that I'm selfish, and immature- that was all true before he came, but he made me a better person. If that doesn't make us family, I don't know what does. It definitely means more than the crap try you made at parenting for me."

He expects more anger, more shouting, more- something. But William doesn't look angry anymore, just sort of… small, and sad. "You're impossible," he says, and walks out.

"Shit," Desmond mutters, and kicks at the nearest available wall.

"Des?"

"Altair." He turns around to see the kid standing there, looking extremely nervous. "Were you listening?"

"You were really loud," Altair says.

"Yea, I guess," Desmond admits. "We should probably count ourselves lucky if the templars don't find us after that argument." He gives a nervous laugh, but Altair doesn't smile.

"I have a dad, you know," he says.

"I know," Desmond says. He crouches down so that he and Altair are on the same level. He has a feeling that this is about to be a very important conversation.

"His name was Umar," Altair goes on. "He died a few years after I left New York."

"I'm sorry," Desmond says. "What I said to William- I didn't mean that I wanted to replace him."

Altair shakes his head vehemently. "No," he says. "You don't get it." He gives a long, exasperated sigh. "My dad died a long time ago. But you're still here, and we _could _have been a family, you know. If Abstergo hadn't taken you away. If Minerva hadn't come back for me. It would have worked out."

Desmond thinks about this for almost a full minute before answering, because he's not quite sure what answer Altair is expecting. Finally he says, "Yea, we could have stayed in New York and pretended like everything was normal. Maybe it would have been a good life, but we never had a chance to live it, and we never will. This is the life we have, and I'm pretty sure it's a better one."

"We're living in a cave," Altair says. "Templars could come and kill us any day. You're might go crazy, and-"

"And we're going to save the world," Desmond says. "Never could have done that if we were still in the city." He shakes his head. "We got this life instead of the other one, but that doesn't mean we're not family."

Altair nods and practically jumps at Desmond. "Thanks," he says, his voice half muffled because his face is pressed into Desmond's shoulder. "Dad."

And it shouldn't hurt to hear that, but it does. Because right now, Altair is a mess of tangled up emotions and lifetimes. This is what he thinks he wants, but in a few days or a few weeks or a few months, Altair will be stolen away again. He'll go back to being twenty six, cold and distant and withdrawn like he was in the animus. And anyway, shouldn't this be weird? Altair is technically older than he is, even if he isn't feeling it right now. This should be _so _weird-"

Altair notices his hesitation and pulls back, suddenly apologetic. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Desmond says, not realizing until he says it that it's true. Kids grow up. They leave. That's what they do, and it hurts when it happens. But that doesn't mean it's not worth whatever time they have. For the first time, he thinks he understands his father. Just a little.

**-/-**

**The only excuse I have for the weird precursor stuff in this chapter is that none of it makes sense in canon anyway.**


	3. Chapter 3

November 16, 2012

-/-

Altair wanders into the temple's main room late, expecting Desmond to already be in the animus. Instead, he finds him glaring at William, arms crossed, perfectly silent, with William in the same position. He sidles around the edge of the room and stands between Rebecca and Shaun. Both of them are silent as well, although Desmond and William are so busy glaring at each other they probably wouldn't have noticed if the other two started dancing across the middle of the floor. "What's going on?"

"We need to get something," Shaun says. "The temple needs batteries to power itself, but they're scattered all over the world. I found one in Manhattan, but we need to go get it."

"Except it's going to be dangerous," Rebecca adds. "And they can't agree about whether or not to take you."

"I want to go," Altair say immediately.

"Well, William says it'll be too dangerous to keep you here alone, and we can't leave anyone behind to babysit you," Rebecca says. "And I'm pretty sure Desmond is worried that templars are going to pounce on us as soon as we get to the city, so he's all in favor of leaving you behind."

"That's dumb," Altair says. "I can take care of myself."

"Can you?" Shaun asks. "Only I've never met a four year old that could take on a fully grown man."

Altair flushes, and decides he liked Shaun better when he was still nervous around him. "Five," he mutters.

"Oh yea," Shaun says. "Sorry. Five year olds fight templars all the time."

Altair scowls and sticks his tongue out, which makes Rebecca laugh loudly enough to actually catch the attention of the other two.

"What's going on?" William snaps.

Rebecca's still laughing. "Sorry," she says. "Ignore me, go back to your staring contest."

"Dad," Altair says, before the argument can start back up. "Do I get a say?"

"Um-"

"Because I want to stay," Altair says, without meeting Desmond's eyes. "I'll just… get in the way." It's very difficult to force the words out, but now that Shaun's pointed it out, it's impossible to avoid seeing it as the truth.

"It's too dangerous-"

"It's dangerous to go, too," Desmond interrupts before his dad can even get the words out. Then they're arguing again, and Altair makes an aggravated noise at how dumb they're both being.

"Just let it happen," Rebecca says. "If they weren't fighting about you they'd just find something else to yell over."

Altair nods and goes back to watching them in silence. It bothers him to see them fight all the time, and he wonders what must have happened between them when Desmond was a kid, to keep them from making up almost a decade later.

Desmond finally wins the argument, and a few hours later Altair finds himself alone in the cavernous emptiness of the temple. As soon as the place is silent, it starts to feel creepy, and Altair can't keep himself from shivering. He tells himself it's just from the cold. The days have been getting short and cold lately, seeping in through the cave ground and turning the stone to ice. Wind whistles past the entrance, making an eerie, howling sound.

Altair shivers. It sounds like ghosts, or-

No. That's the child in him speaking, and however it might seem at the moment, Altair is not a child. He bawls his hands into fists and tries not to think about it. The others are only going to Manhattan, and that isn't very far away at all. They'll probably be back by evening, and maybe even sooner. It won't be that bad.

Only- the cave is dark all the time, and the floodlights in the main rooms only make it worse. The harsh lights cast shadows into every corner, and they blind Altair so that his night vision is in shreds whenever he looks away. And it's quiet too, without the reassuring noises of the others. Even the computers scattered around the main room have been powered down, so the only sounds are the ones Altair makes.

It's creepy. And he's not afraid (he's really, really _not_, and if he keeps telling himself that, maybe he'll even believe it), but there's something about being alone here that's just… bad.

One of the computers suddenly beeps, and Altair spins around, eyes wide, to see it's started powering on. He walks over to it on cautious, silent feet, and watches as the computer finishes booting up, and an e-mail program pops up. There's one unread message, but it's Shaun's computer and Altair knows he has no business reading it. He reads it anyway.

_THIS IS NOT YOUR PLACE THIS IS NOT YOUR TIME LEAVE AND DON'T COME BACK_

Altair makes a noise that he's sure he'll be very embarrassed about later and scrambles away from the computer as quickly as he can. The floor is uneven and he falls hard, but the pain barely registers. That message had been for him. Someone had sent it to him through Shaun's computer, knowing Altair was there alone, knowing he'd be the one to read it. And they'd done it through a turned off computer, which as far as Altair knows is impossible.

Then there's the threat itself. Just words, but Altair is afraid of them anyway. He's trembling when he edges in close to the computer and rereading the message. It hasn't changed, but this time he notices something else- the message's sender is listed as 01001010010101010100111001001111, which looks like nonsense but maybe means something. Or maybe it doesn't. Altair makes a mental note to ask one of the others when they come back, and turns off the computer before running for the safety of his bedroll. He's not even trying to fight off the fear anymore, especially when he sees _something_, a glowing golden figure standing on the edge of his vision, watching him from the darkness beyond the floodlights.

He doesn't move again until the others finally come back, and by then he's a shaking ball of fear on the floor.

-/-

November 17, 2012

-/-

Desmond knows something is wrong as soon as he makes it back to the temple with the others. They're all in a good mood, because it's the first time they've been out in ages, and because the trip was definitely a success. They have the battery, which means they're one step closer to having the temple fully powered up. William's even been surprisingly bearable, which makes a nice change.

But Altair's not there, and Desmond quickly ducks away from the others to go looking for him. It wouldn't be the first time he's gone exploring on his own, but it bothers Desmond every time. The temple's ancient, and parts of it look like it could fall apart if people start talking too loudly. He can easily imagine Altair overreaching himself, trying to do things he's not capable of in his child's body.

That's when Desmond hears the crying. He freezes, mind instantly filling with images of broken bones and bloody wounds. "Shit," he mutters, and follows the sounds of crying until he finds Altair curled among his blankets, uninjured but shaking like a leaf. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Altair sits up and turns his back away from Desmond, hastily wiping tears from his eyes.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"No!" Altair takes a huge breath in, then lets it out. "I'm not- I'm not scared."

"I didn't say you were," Desmond says. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Altair hesitates, but eventually manages to get through the whole story. He mumbles most of it, and keeps his eyes fixed on the floor the whole time, and the only thing that keeps Desmond from going after whoever it is that's been sending threatening e-mails is Altair's miserable face. Whatever he says about it, Altair's obviously been scared, and he's humiliated about it.

"There's nothing wrong with being afraid," Desmond says quietly, and watches Altair flinch.

"Yea there is," Altair says. "You can't do what we have to do if you're afraid. Assassins shouldn't be _scared_."

"Bull," Desmond says. "I'm scared right now."

"Why?"

"I'm scared that we won't be able to save the world," Desmond says quietly. "And millions of people will die because I'm not good enough. I'm scared that one day I'll wake up and I won't remember who I am. And I'm scared because someone is sending you threats that I can't do anything about. Fear is normal. It's human."

"I hate this," Altair says. "I hate being small and scared and- and useless."

"You're not useless," Desmond says. "You're not."

"I haven't done anything since I've been here," Altair argues. "I just get in the way. I can't do anything…"

"You do plenty," Desmond says.

"I can't do anything," Altair protests. "I spent my whole life trying to be as strong as possible. So I could fight, and protect people. And now I can't do any of that. If I was still at Masyaf, I wouldn't be so useless. I wouldn't be scared, and you wouldn't have to be scared for me."

"I would rather have to be afraid for you than not have you here at all," Desmond says. Altair just looks at him, disbelief and misery warring with something that might be hope on his face. And it's the hope that hurts Desmond most of all, because no kid should have to _hope _that there's someone that cares for them.

There's not a lot of time left, now. Desmond knows it without really knowing how, as a feeling deep in his bones that won't go away. This isn't going to last forever, and life is never going to be normal or easy. Not after all this. Maybe they'll all be dead before the end of the year, and the world will be over. Or maybe he'll be insane, and Altair will be back in Masyaf. Maybe some other disaster will end everything.

Desmond can't imagine a way out for himself, and he's been struggling to accept that. There are some days when he just wants to rage against the unfairness of it all. But now- well, now he feels like he's seeing everything clearly. In whatever time he has left, he's going to make sure Altair knows that he's wanted. Then at least he'll have that to carry with him when he goes home again.

"Hey," he says. "Do you want to go somewhere Sunday?"

"Can we?" Altair asks. "I thought we were supposed to stay in the cave."

"Well, yea," Desmond says. "But I can get Rebecca and Shaun to cover for us. And this place is huge. No one will even notice we're gone."

Altair smiles and nods, obviously excited at the idea of leaving for a while. "I can't wait."

Later, after Altair is asleep, Desmond goes looking for Shaun, and finds him nursing a cup of coffee in front of his computer. He looks up and waves when Desmond comes close, but doesn't say anything. Desmond pulls up a chair next to him and says, in a low voice because William isn't very far off, "Altair told me someone's been sending him messages through your computer."

"Yea." Shaun groans and rubs his face, then starts loading up his email. "I was going to tell you when I got a chance, but-here, see for yourself."

There's a whole bunch of messages in Shaun's inbox. A lot of them are from the other assassins, both in the temple and from other cells- but it's the other messages that really stand out as wrong.

"Who are these from?" Desmond asks, pointing.

"Juno," Shaun says. "The ones and zeroes are binary- basic computer language. She's been sending me stuff pretty much ever since we got to New York. Just hassling me, really, but- yea, this one here is obviously for Altair." He opens the latest message and Desmond reads it over, muttering angrily as he does so.

"You alright?" Shaun asks.

"Fine," Desmond says, and does his best to keep his voice calm. "Totally fine."

"Yea," Shaun says. "Sure."

"I mean, if I ever get my hands on Juno she's going to regret threatening him," Desmond says. "But yea. Totally fine."

"Right." Shaun gives a quick snort of laughter. "You know, you make a right scary dad."

"What?"

"If you could see your face right now-"

"Sorry," Desmond says. "I'm just… worried."

"Too worried, maybe." Shaun glances at William and drops his voice. "I mean, if templars start swarming the place, _then _I'd say he's small right now and probably needs protecting. But you're coddling him. Don't you think that might be kind of insulting?"

"It's not coddling," Desmond says. "It's- listen, no one has it all together. Growing up just means that you've learned to keep the shitty parts of yourself hidden. Kids can't do that, and Altair's seen a lot. Probably it wasn't so hard for him to deal with it when he was an adult, but right now he's five years old. He's killed more people than everyone in this room combined, including his mentor. He's got no family, and more enemies than friends. So no. It's not coddling."

"Alright," Shaun says. "He's your kid, not mine. But you're still a pretty scary dad."

-/-

November 25, 2012

-/-

Sunday is beautiful, cool but not cold, with a light breeze that blows Altair's hair into his eyes and across his face as soon as he steps outside.

"You need a haircut," Desmond says, and Altair scowls.

"No way," he says. "I don't wanna walk around with half my head shaved. Again." Desmond had cut his hair exactly once when they'd been in New York. After that, they'd both agreed Desmond shouldn't be allowed to have scissors next to anyone's head.

"You're getting shaggy," Desmond says, and Altair scowls at him. He's not really angry, though, and before long the excitement of finally being outside keeps him from being really upset.

"I've never been anywhere like this before," he says, changing the subject. New York is totally different from the lands around Masyaf, and somehow even more different from the city.

"Is it good different or bad different?"

"It's not-a cave-different," Altair says bluntly, and Desmond winces. "Sorry. I'm just starting to hate it in there."

"We all do," Desmond says in a voice that makes it clear he doesn't want to talk anymore. So they don't. There's not much around to do, but Altair has never been good at sitting still, not even as an adult. His child's body is almost incapable of it, and luckily it turns out that the forests surrounding the cave are perfect for climbing and running. Altair is more used to rooftops than branches, but that just makes it more of a challenge.

Desmond mostly stays on the ground, apparently lost in his own thoughts, and Altair doesn't pay him much attention until finally he drops to the ground, sweaty and covered in dirt. He's tired, but it's a good kind of tired, and he can feel a smile on his face.

It fades quickly though, because Desmond is sitting on the ground, his back to a tree. His posture is strange, stiff and hunched over. His head is resting on one fisted hand, like he has a headache, and his breathing is ragged. Something feels off about this, so when Altair walks toward him, he does so cautiously. Desmond hears him anyway, and his head snaps up to face Altair.

"Dad..?"

The word rests in the empty air between them, half a question and half a plea because there's no recognition at all in Desmond's face, and Altair recognizes that _this _is what the bleeding effect looks like. He swallows hard, and tries not to freak out because this is weird and not okay. Desmond doesn't answer, but after a few long seconds, he gradually unfolds himself and walks over to Altair. He drops down so they're on the same level and studies Altair's face with an intensity that makes Altair want to squirm away. It takes all the self-control he has to stay still, especially when Desmond reaches out and gently rests his hand against Altair's face.

They stay frozen like that for quite a long time, until finally Desmond's face melts into something more familiar. Altair lets himself be folded into a tight hug, one that's so tight it actually hurts.

"I'm so sorry," Desmond whispers, and Altair shakes his head.

"What happened?" he asks. "Was it the bleeding effect?"

"Yea." Desmond gives a sigh that sounds like it uses up all the air in his lungs, and finally lets go. "It's just… I've been here before. In these woods."

"You mean Connor's been here," Altair says.

"Like there's even a difference," Desmond says, and Altair punches him as hard as he can. It's frustratingly ineffective, and Desmond is mostly just surprised. "What was that for?"

"Of course there's a difference," Altair says. "You're you and he's him."

"It's not that simple."

"It is," Altair argues. Not that he has any idea what the bleeding effect feels like, but he really, really wants it to be that simple. "Are you going to do that again?"

"I don't know," Desmond says. "Probably."

"Oh." He tries hard to think of something to say, but the defeated tone in Desmond's voice just makes him angry. It's like he doesn't even care that he's going crazy, like he's not even planning to fight for his own mind. He jumps to his feet and turns his back on Desmond. "I'm going back," he says, and takes off running before Desmond has the chance to argue.

He passes through the same forest on the way back that he had on the way out, but all the beauty of the area is meaningless now. It's ruined now, so badly that Altair would rather be back inside the cave then stuck out here.

There's only one thought going through Altair's mind as he goes back. _Why won't he fight?_

-/-

December 1, 2012

-/-

No one argues when Altair asks to go with the next time they find a battery. This one's in South America, and will obviously be more than a day trip. No one, least of all Altair, is comfortable with him staying alone for several days with Juno.

Desmond doesn't have a problem with Altair coming with, but he does have a problem with Altair going to William for permission rather than to him. To _William_, his unfeeling asshole of an absentee father. Maybe it's just because William had argued in favor of Altair coming last time, but Desmond sort of doubts it. The truth is, Altair has been actively avoiding Desmond since their disastrous trip out the previous Sunday.

"It's the damn bleeding effect," Desmond complains to Rebecca as they're loading the van with all their essential equipment.

"Are you serious?" Rebecca asks. "What were you doing out there anyway?"

"I just thought… I don't know." Desmond shrugs, tries not to look at her. "He might want a day out. You knew about it. I asked you to cover for me, remember?"

"I didn't know the bleeding effect was getting that strong!"

"Neither did I," Desmond lies. The truth is, the visions have been getting worse and worse lately, but Sunday was the first time he'd actually forgotten the difference between himself and Connor. First and only time so far, but now it's just a waiting game. Back in Italy, before the coma, Desmond had gone through this with Ezio. He'd only slipped once. Just once, and he'd thought it was over after that. Except it wasn't, and after a while he'd barely been able to hide it from the others, some days spending more time in Ezio's mind than his own. Then he'd sort of been able to get it together during his time in Constantinople, and now it's happening all over again.

"Is that why you're not talking to Altair?" Rebecca asks after the silence starts to stretch out just a little too long.

"I'm not talking to him because he's not talking to me."

"You're perfectly capable of starting a conversation on your own," Rebecca says. "What's wrong?"

"I-" Don't want to talk about it. But Rebecca's standing with her arms crossed, half glaring at him, and this obviously isn't going to be something he can avoid. "I remember everything that happens during the bleeding effect. So I remember _not _remembering, if that makes sense."

"Sort of," Rebecca says. "So?"

"I remember I just looked at him," Desmond says. "And I had no idea who he was or what he was doing there." And that's all he says, that's all he will say, even though there's so much more to the story. Because Connor has feelings too, and in this case they are scarily close to Desmond's own. There had been a time when Connor was a child and alone in the forest, so there's no way he would ever walk past a random kid on their own without making sure they're alright.

His first instinct is to protect, which is wrong because _that's not his job_. It's Desmond's.

"Would you- I mean, Connor- would you have hurt him?"

"What? No, God no."

"Then what are you afraid of?" Rebecca asks.

"Forgetting," Desmond mutters, but she doesn't get it, doesn't really get it. Maybe he's just not explaining it right, because the forgetting isn't the hard part. It's remembering after.

They quit talking after that, and in fact most of the trip is spent in near or total silence. They keep their conversations limited to normal topics, because it's risky enough heading into public places without making themselves stand out so obviously. And surprisingly enough, it actually makes the tension dissipate a little. With assassin business obviously off the table, Desmond and William don't fight even once. And Altair is actually talking again- actually, it seems like he can't stop himself from talking. He's energetic and happy for the first time in a while, apparently over the moon at the idea of being in an airplane.

"Never flown before?" William asks when they're in the gate area, waiting for the plane to come.

Altair looks up at him and shakes his head. "No."

"So you've never left New York?"

"Um…" Altair looks from William to Desmond, and gives him a small, secretive smile. Desmond grins back, thinking of Masyaf and Jerusalem. "No."

"All you have to know is to not throw up," Shaun says.

"And don't sit next to him," Rebecca adds, jabbing a thumb at Shaun over her shoulder. "Because he throws up every time."

"I do not!"

And for a while they could almost be a normal group of travelers. When they get in the plane, Desmond sits next to Altair and watches him stare out the window as the ground vanishes below them. "That's incredible," Altair whispers, and Desmond does his best to focus on the sight of his awestruck face rather than Shaun throwing up in the seat in front of them.

"Do we get to do this on the way back, too?" Altair asks.

"No," Desmond says. "I think we'll probably drive."

"Oh." Altair's face drops. "Well I guess Shaun won't be so sick if we're on the ground, right?"

"I'm kidding," Desmond laughs. "Of course we're flying back."

"Oh!" Altair says again. "You're mean."

"Yea, I guess." Desmond says. "I'm sorry." He means it for more than the teasing. He means it for Sunday, and for not being able to keep himself sane, and he can tell from Altair's face that he gets it.

"It's fine," Altair says, and they don't mention it again. The flight stretches on through the night, and eventually Altair nods off, his legs curled up on the seat underneath him, head resting on Desmond's shoulder. It hits him suddenly- and not for the first time- how incredibly small Altair is as a child, smaller even than most kids his age. Then again, from what Desmond's seen in the animus, Altair hadn't grown up to be a particularly tall man, either. It's easy to forget, because of everything he'd done for the order.

Altair's face contorts abruptly into an expression of pain, and a few mumbled words of protest slip past his lips. Desmond draws him closer, rubbing his back until the words fade into whimpers, and the whimpers fade away completely. After that, he sleeps soundly, untroubled by whatever nightmares or memories had been bothering him.

The plane flies on.

-/-

December 2, 2012

-/-

The team splits up during the mission to get the battery. Desmond is the only one going in, because he's the only one of them with field training. Excluding Altair, who knows he's too small to do anything helpful. Rebecca and Shaun hole up in a rented van down the street from the stadium where the battery is, running the equipment and keeping in communication with Desmond. That leaves William, positioned on a nearby rooftop to keep an eye out for reinforcements, and Altair, who's been told to stay in their motel room until it's all over.

He's not happy about it.

"Why can't I come?" Altair whines- and he is whining by now, because Desmond, Rebecca, and Shaun have already left, and William is his last chance at getting to see any part of this mission. Part of him recognizes that whining is going to carry absolutely no weight with William, but it's drowned out by the part of him that really doesn't want to be left in a room that smells like nacho puke all afternoon.

"It's not safe," William says.

"But I really want to-"

"Enough, Altair," William says, in a voice that's harsh enough to actually surprise him into silence. "A kid is going to do nothing but get in the way here. Clearly, you can't come."

"But-"

"Unless of course," William continues. "You're not actually a child."

Altair feels his breath catch in his throat, and suddenly the atmosphere of the room is tense. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says.

"Cut the crap," William snaps. "Not one of you is a good enough liar to keep me from finding out.

Altair literally squirms. "Maybe you should ask Desmond about-"

"Desmond will stonewall me," William says with a faint smile. "He'll change the subject and then we'll fight. I'm asking you." He stands there with his arms crossed, clearly waiting for some kind of an answer.

"Fine," Altair mutters. "What do you know already?"

"I know that you're older than you look," William says. "That you lived with Desmond for a while, and Altair probably isn't your real name."

"Why don't you think that's my real name?" Altair asks.

"It's a pretty unbelievable coincidence," William says. "Considering Desmond has an ancestor with the same name."

"It's not a coincidence," Altair corrects. "That's me." And at least watching William go pale is entertaining, because this conversation is quickly turning awkward.

"That's not possible," William says, then pales even farther when Altair holds up his hand with the missing middle finger. "Alright, fine," he says. "What are you doing here?"

"Precursor nonsense," Altair mutters. "I have no idea how it works."

William shakes his head, muttering angrily to himself. Altair lets him do it, twisting his fingers in his lap until finally William grabs his keys and heads for the door.

"Wait!" Altair says, sliding off the bed where he's been sitting. "Where are you going?"

"Rooftops," William says. "Are you coming or not?"

Altair nods eagerly and runs after William. Just playing lookout wouldn't normally be satisfying, but right now he'll take whatever small victories he can get. So, when he spends the whole of his afternoon crouched on the lip of a rooftop, scanning the area in eagle vision, he's happy. He's helping, finally, and that makes it a good day.

After an hour or so, the wind picks up and Altair mumbles a curse as his hair blows into his eyes so he can't see as well. If he wasn't so afraid of letting Desmond play barber for him, he'd be asking for a haircut first chance he got.

"Here," William says, and drops a hair tie down to Altair.

"Thanks," Altair says. "Why do you have this?"

William comes dangerously close to smiling. "Just tie your hair back," William says. "Or does everyone in the twelfth century walk around half blinded?"

"No," Altair mutters, but for once does as he's told. He feels a little silly with a ponytail, but it does keep his hair out of the way. He turns his gaze back to the street below and suddenly frowns. "Something's happening."

"What?" William moves so he's standing next to him, squinting as if that's actually going to help. They're several stories up, and the only reason Altair can see anything at all is because his eagle vision highlights the most important activities. William doesn't have that, which is weird because it's a genetic quality and Desmond's is pretty strong.

"I think they found him," Altair says. "They've got security swarming the building."

William nods and starts barking orders at Rebecca and Shaun through his earpiece. Desmond hadn't been outfitted with one though, just in case he's killed or captured, so there's no way to warn him. On the other hand, he's probably figured it out on his own by now- a fleet of armed guards isn't easy to miss.

"Be okay," Altair says to the empty air in front of him, and then gasps.

"What now?" William asks.

"Some of them are coming up here."

**-/-**

**I was going to edit this before putting it up but it's almost five thousand words and I'm incredibly lazy. Apologies for any horrible lapses of grammar/spelling/logic.**

**6/29/14- Resubmitted with dates**


	4. Chapter 4

December 2, 2012

-/-

Desmond's breathing hard and bleeding slightly when he makes it onto the train, but no one's following him, not even Cross. So that's good. Of course, the train's not going to take any unexpected turns, so unless Desmond is very lucky, they're going to be waiting at the next station. He should be trying to think of a way out, but he's always been more reactive than proactive, and his mind keeps going back to Cross.

That man is terrifying. Not because of anything he does or anything he says, but because of his eyes. They're empty, broken and pitted by whatever he's seen and done. He barely seems human anymore, just a man shaped vessel for the things he's been forced to become in the animus.

Desmond thinks about Cross, crazy and rattling around inside his own head. Then he thinks about Clay, writing messages in his own blood on the walls and storing his brain inside the same machine that made him nuts. Then he thinks about himself, and what will be left of him when his mind inevitably goes to shit as well.

Because it is inevitable. There had been sixteen subjects before him, and all of them are nuts or dead or both. Oh for sixteen. Oh for seventeen, soon.

The train doors slide open at the next station, and Desmond tenses in case someone with a gun is waiting for him there. Only nothing happens, nothing violent or unexpected. People get on the train, people get off, and at the last possible second, Desmond slips out between the doors. No one follows him, and Desmond makes it back to the meet up point without any more violence. But when he gets there, only Shaun and Rebecca are waiting.

"What happened?" he asks. "What went wrong?"

"Abstergo came," Shaun says. His voice is forcibly cheerful, and that tells Desmond exactly how bad the situation must be. "They must have spotted the two of them, and now they're-"

"Dead?" Desmond interrupts.

"Taken," Rebecca corrects.

"Well that's not much better, is it?" Desmond demands, shouting the words so loudly that Rebecca flinches away from him. "We all know what they do to people they take!" Because they took him, and they put him in an animus, and now he's going crazy. Not oh for seventeen after all. Oh for eighteen. Oh for _nineteen._

"Come on," Rebecca says, and very gently takes Desmond's arm. "We're only going to be captured ourselves if we stay here."

"We can't leave," Desmond says.

"We can't _stay_," Rebecca says. "We won't be any good to them here."

"Fine," Desmond says. "So what do we do?"

"Go back to New York," Rebecca says. "All our resources are there. We have sources, files, data. Everything we need to find them, and get them back."

Desmond nods, but he's not thinking about resources or files _or _data. He's thinking about numbers. Oh for seventeen. Oh for eighteen. Oh for nineteen. He wonders if all this would have been easier if it had been one for sixteen when Abstergo kidnapped him. If someone had been able to tell him, 'yea, okay, the bleeding effect gets pretty much everyone in the end but there is this one guy, totally find, living a normal life in Florida.' It might have given him some encouragement, some reason to hope for his own sanity.

He thinks about one for seventeen. Maybe that can help William or Altair if he's right about what Abstergo plans to do to them. _He has to stay sane._

Later, much later, back in New York, Shaun suggests that maybe they're not going to be put in an animus at all. "They could have taken them to get to you."

"Why would they do that?" Desmond asks. Rebecca and Shun exchange a look that he doesn't understand. "What?"

"Do you know how long Abstergo spent looking for you?" Rebecca asks.

"No," Desmond says. "I kind of assumed it was sort of a crime of opportunity. I was easy to get to, so they took me."

"Not at all," Shaun says. "They were looking for you. I don't know how they knew you had the DNA they wanted, but they spent years on you, specifically. Now they've lost you again. I'd bet you anything they're going to ask you to trade yourself for William and Altair."

"I hope you're right," Desmond mutters. Because that means they're alive and sane. It means they can be rescued. But not traded for, no matter what they say. Desmond's not going back in there, no matter what they say.

Not unless he has no other choice, anyway. Not unless it comes down to his life or theirs.

"Hoping," Rebecca repeats. "That means you're not convinced."

"Call it a gut feeling," Desmond says. "They can stick either or both of them in an animus, get some good information, and still use them as leverage over me. And I mean, my dad's got half my ancestors, they'll love that. They might not mess with Altair, but if they find out he's been pretending to be my son, and if they're really as interested in me as you say-"

"Then finding him would be like Christmas," Rebecca says.

"He'd have _all _my ancestors," Desmond goes on. "But he's five. They'd think he was easier to manipulate."

"Hang on," Shaun says, loudly. "I think you're both forgetting that Altair is your _ancestor_, Desmond, not your son."

"I know," Desmond says. "But if they do put him in an animus, and find out they have _the _Altair, do you really think that's going to go well for him?"

"…no," Shaun admits. They all think about this in silence for a few seconds, then Shaun shakes his head. "We have to get them back."

-/-

December 14, 2012

-/-

Altair rolls over in bed and throws up onto the floor. He can't remember ever feeling this sick before. His stomach is trying to claw its way out of his mouth, every limb feels limp and shaky, and his head is pounding like someone is pounding a hammer against his brain. He doesn't even feel like a person right now, just a bunch of connected pains.

There's a noise in the room, someone whimpering like an animal in pain. As soon as Altair notices it, the noise stops, and that's when he realizes he's the one making it. "No," he whispers. "Please…" but he doesn't know what he's begging for, or who he's begging it from. He just wants the pain to stop.

A while later (although it is difficult to tell if it's minutes or hours), strong hands lift him off the bed and carry him away. It's enough to wake him up a little, just enough to lash out against his kidnapper. It's weak though, and useless. Just like it's useless every day when they come to put him back in the animus…

"Hey," someone says quietly. "Hey, Altair, calm down. It's me."

Desmond's voice. Altair freezes and struggles to open his eyes. Most of his mind is telling him to keep them closed, because this is just another hallucination, and the disappointment when he sees someone else there is going to suck. He's been disappointed before.

"Come on, don't do this to me now."

With a monumental effort, Altair manages to open his eyes. And he sees- he sees a room with bodies, he sees blood on the floor, he sees Desmond-

"Dad!" Altair sits up, too quickly. His vision swims, and then goes black.

When he wakes up again, he's somewhere else. Back in the cave in Turin, New York, siting on his own bedroll, with Rebecca sitting next to him. He tries to move, and to his surprise it doesn't even hurt. There's some lingering soreness from lying still too long, but the sickness and pain is gone.

"You haven't been in the animus in a couple days," Rebecca says, noticing the surprised look on his face. "The pain's all in your head, one of it's physical, so it fades quickly."

"But the rest of it doesn't," Altair says. He can already see the hallucinations in the corner of his eye, half memories and half nightmares. Leftovers from ancestors he never wanted to know about. "The visions, the crazy…" he thinks about that day in the woods, when Desmond had looked at him without seeing him. "No one comes back after that. It's gonna get me, too."

The bleeding effect. Someday he'll wake up and not know who he is… someday soon, maybe. He doesn't want to think about it, but it's all he _can _think about, so he tries to distract himself. "What happened to William?" he asks. He hadn't seen the man since the day they were both taken by Abstergo. They'd been separated, and after that Altair's life had been one confusing blur of bad memories.

"Dead," Rebecca says. "We… didn't get to him in time. He tried to fight them, but I mean… well, he was getting older. It didn't go well."

"How did you get in?" Altair asks. "There were guards." Every day. All the time. Everywhere.

"That would be Desmond," Rebecca says. "I think he would have fought through an army to get to you. And of course Vidic is dead and we have the last battery for the temple, so that helps, but those were just accidents. We went for you."

"Why?" Altair whispers, and Rebecca pulls him into a tight hug before pulling away.

"You really do have abandonment issues, don't you?" she asks.

"What?"

"Never mind," Rebecca says, backing away. "I'm going to wake Desmond up now- he asked to be pulled out of the animus if you woke up."

"He's still using it?" Altair asks.

"It's December fifteenth," Rebecca says. "Less than a week until the end of the world. We still have to find where the key is."

"Oh," Altair frowns. "That's important. I can wait."

Rebecca doesn't even bother with an answer, just disappears out of Altair's sight. As much as he knows it's important to the fate of the world that Desmond find the key in Connor's memories, he can't deny that he wants really badly to see Desmond again.

But it takes a while for Rebecca to get to the main room, pull Desmond out of the animus, tell him what happened, and walk back with him. By that time, Altair's already seeing things again. It gets so bad that when Desmond walks in, Altair's mind keeps projecting other peoples' faces over his. Friends, enemies, family, strangers he barely knows. Memories of people he's never met writing over his own, and suddenly it's all too much.

Altair has cried a lot lately, more than he likes to think about, more than he has in years. Decades, even. Usually he can tell himself that it's only because he's suddenly so small and young, but this time the sobs that wrack his body are so much deeper. They go all the way to the core of his being, and when he tries to speak the words come out mangled and breathless.

"Slow down," Desmond says. "Take a deep breath-"

"I can't-" Altair is panicking, struggling to breathe, hyperventilating maybe. "I can't even see you, I don't know who you are."

Desmond doesn't get angry at that, just stays amazingly, reassuringly calm. "Close your eyes," he says, and Altair follows the direction, still struggling to breathe normally. "Don't look at me, don't look at anything. Alright?" Altair nods, and a moment later he feels Desmond's hand on his back, rubbing circles into it. He doesn't say anything for a long time, until Altair manages to stop crying.

"What are you seeing?" Desmond asks. "I know they put you in the animus, but I don't know what ancestors you saw."

"I don't know either," Altair whispers. "A lot. Dozens. They weren't after anything, I don't think."

"Then why-"

"The first day I was there…" Altair's been trying not to think about that day. "Vidic came to talk to me. He didn't know who I was. He didn't care, didn't even want to know my name. He just knew that I was with you, and he said I was…"

"What?" Desmond asks.

"I was just a way of punishing you," Altair says, and he feels Desmond's hand suddenly stop moving. "He put me through a dozen ancestors a day, trying to break my mind." He laughs even though it's not funny. "It worked."

"It didn't work," Desmond says.

"I can't even see you," Altair says again. "When I look at you I see other faces. But none of them are yours. I don't think, I can't- I can't remember-"

"I know," Desmond says. "That's why your eyes are closed. Just focus on my voice, alright?"

Altair nods. "Is this what you see when you bleed?"

"No," Desmond says quietly. "Rebecca said it might affect you differently. I mean, she wasn't sure, because no one's ever been… _stupid_ enough to put a kid into an animus. But… well, there's some good news and some bad news. What do you want first?"

"Good news." He needs some.

"Well, they were cycling through memories pretty fast. Can you even name one of the ancestors you saw?"

"No."

"Then you probably won't have the same problems I had," Desmond says. "No waking up wondering who you are, no speaking in other languages, nothing like that."

"Bad news?"

"You're a twenty six year old man in a five year body with dozens or hundreds of your ancestors' memories rattling around in your head. You're kind of screwed up."

That forces a genuine laugh out of Altair, because he is so far past screwed up right now. "Nobody stays sane after they've been through the animus," he says. "You told me that."

"I was wrong," Desmond says. "I haven't seen any hallucinations since the day you were taken. No visions, no voices, no anything."

"Really?" Something like hope surges up in Altair's stomach, sweet and tempting. "How?"

"I can't fall apart," Desmond says. "I need to stay sane for you."

Altair opens his eyes and stares up into Desmond's face. For a second, Altair's mind throws up someone else's face over Desmond's, but this time it's someone he recognizes. Then Umar's face melts away, and Altair presses himself as close as he can get to Desmond.

"One out of seventeen," Desmond says quietly.

"What?"

"Seventeen people used the animus before you," Desmond says. "Sixteen of them went crazy. One didn't."

Altair understands right away- it's a slim chance, but of Desmond can claw himself back from the edge of insanity, there's no reason he won't be able to do the same. "I don't like those kinds of odds," he says. "One for seventeen."

"No?"

"I like two for eighteen," Altair says.

"I like two for eighteen too," Desmond says. "Let's try for that instead."

-/-

December 21, 2012

-/-

"Hey, Desmond, do you think you could hurry it up a little?" Shaun calls, and Desmond stops digging to lean on his shovel and glare up at him.

"It would go faster if you helped."

"I don't dig," Shaun says. "I supervise."

Desmond swears under his breath, then slightly louder to make sure Shaun can hear him.

"Friendly reminder that there is a kid here," Shaun says. "Let's try and keep the language age appropriate, yes?"

Desmond adds a few curses in Arabic, this time for Altair's benefit, and is rewarded with a burst of genuine laughter from somewhere out of sight.

"Quit making excuses, Shaun," Rebecca says, and jumps into the hole next to Desmond. "I'll help."

"Well now you're making me look bad," Shaun says.

"Go back to supervising," Rebecca says. "And toss me a shovel."

"Thanks," Desmond says, and after that the two of them work in silence for several minutes. He can hear Shaun and Altair bickering from somewhere overhead, but it doesn't sound aggressive so Desmond ignores it. If they start really arguing he can step in to rescue Shaun, and in the meantime at least it's keeping the kid busy. Busy means not thinking about the hallucinations that Desmond _knows _he still sees, or answering the voices only he can hear. Busy means one more step away from crazy.

"Why did Connor bury the key in a grave?" Rebecca asks.

"I don't know," Desmond says. "But I'm glad he did. Where else would he have put it that we could still find it hundreds of years later?"

"I guess," Rebecca says. "It's just… creepy, you know? Sort of morbid."

"We're assassins," Desmond says. "What we do is usually morbid."

"I guess," Rebecca says, and goes back to her digging without looking at Desmond.

"What's wrong?" Desmond asks.

"Nothing."

"No, seriously," Rebecca says. "Nothing-" she sighs and seems to droop a little. "Fine. It bothers me that you lied to Altair."

"I didn't lie," Desmond says.

"You can hide the symptoms as much as you want," Rebecca says. "But I monitor your brain patterns every time you get in the animus. I know you're still bleeding."

"Fine," Desmond says. "I lied, because he needed some hope that he could get better. He needed to see that it was possible to beat it. And anyway, it really is getting better." For given values of better- less forgetting who he is, fewer hallucinations- not most peoples' ideas of better, maybe. But enough for him.

"If he finds out you lied, it's going to backfire horribly," Rebecca says.

"I know," Desmond says. "Please don't tell him?"

"I wouldn't do that," Rebecca says. "Not ever. But-" she hesitates. "You know, there is one subject that managed to beat the bleeding effect."

"Yea?" Desmond asks. "You guys always made it seem so inevitable."

"Subject number two," Rebecca says. "Warren Vidic."

"Vidic went in the animus?"

"It's not the most inspirational example," Rebecca says. "That's why no one mentioned him to you."

"But he still did it," Desmond says. "That means it's possible. So if I beat it, and Altair beats it too that's- what, three for eighteen?"

"Not bad odds," Rebecca says.

"Better than a minute ago." Desmond goes back to digging, a smile on his face. So it is possible. The bleeding effect can be beaten, and he's going to do it.

"Oh, hey." Rebecca bends over and picks something up. "Things are looking up."

"You found the key?" Desmond asks, dropping his shovel and bending over to examine the dirty metal disk in Rebecca's hand.

"Yep," she says. "Now let's get out of here and go save the world."

"Sounds like a plan," Desmond says, and for just one perfect, shining moment, everything looks like it might just work out okay.

It's a good long while before that optimism fades, but when it finally does, there's a good reason for it. They're back in the cave by this point, past the door that the key unlocks, listening to Juno and Minerva argue. The optimism vanishes, because there's no point in fighting anymore. There are no more good options after this. Just… death.

Rebecca and Shaun leave when Desmond asks, reluctantly but willing to listen to what is essentially his last request. Altair is more stubborn. "You promised you wouldn't leave," he says when they're alone. Relatively alone, anyway, because the two precursor women are still watching from only a few feet away.

"I know," Desmond says. "But-"

"You don't get to break your promise just because you'll be dead after you do," Altair interrupts. "I'll still be here."

"I only have two choices here," Desmond says, and he doesn't even bother to hide the anger in his voice. "Die, or let the world burn."

"There are infinite choices," Minerva says. _"Infinite."_

The word means nothing to him, but Altair gasps and goes running off before Desmond can say another word. He watches him go, feeling strangely empty despite knowing that this is exactly what he wants. Then he turns, but hesitates before he does anything else. It's still December 20, not quite midnight. He has a few minutes before he has to die, and if nothing else, waiting will give the others time to get farther away. So he waits.

-/-

December 21, 2012

-/-

Altair only stops running when he gets to the room that holds the Infinity Machine. It's exactly the way he remembers it from his first visit, but this time he doesn't stop to marvel at the impossibility of it all. He doesn't need to know how it was made or what it's here for to understand that it's Desmond's last chance to get out of this cave alive.

So he points his thoughts at the choice that Desmond is about to make, and asks to see the third option. The machine gives him an infinite number of third options. Some of them are bad. Altair sees worlds covered in blood, crushed under oppressive tyrants, or overrun with horrors that make him want to run. And he sees worlds whose circumstances are so different from his own that he can't hope to replicate them. But then he sees one that's different.

In that world, someone made the mistake of carrying the apple into the room with them, and of using it inside, just as Desmond put his hand over the orb. The two technologies interacted in a way that Altair sees but doesn't understand. He hesitates for exactly a second, because maybe messing with the apple isn't a good idea. Then he goes running out of the room, because this is his last chance.

The apple that he brought with him from Masyaf is still in the main room, lying abandoned on a table like a piece of junk. Altair doesn't spare more than a second to think how ironic it is that a piece of metal that has caused so much trouble has turned out to be so useless.

No. Not useless- not if it does what he needs it to.

He goes running back into the room where Desmond is (to his huge relief) still alive, waiting or trying to convince himself to actually do it, maybe. It doesn't matter. He's still alive, and he's going to stay that way.

"Altair!" Desmond says when he comes back in. "What are you going here? You were supposed to leave."

"I didn't," Altair says.

"Obviously," Desmond says. "So go, now."

"No," Altair says.

"Altair-"

"I said no!"

And he turns his mind inward, to focus on the apple, telling it what he wants, what he _needs_. Only he doesn't know exactly what that is, and the only thing he knows for certain is that he doesn't want this-

The world blinks for just a second, and Altair can almost feel the universe straining as it tries to compensate, and then something gives, and time starts ticking on again, along a new track. He can feel it all around him, and knows deep inside himself that his crazy plan has worked.

Then he passes out.

When he wakes again, his body feels heavy and strange, and it takes him a minute to figure out that this is actually his body, returned suddenly to adulthood. More than that, when he opens his eyes again, he's back in Masyaf, no more than a minute or two after he left. It's like none of it ever happened.

Only it did happen. The memories are still there in his head, proof that he traveled to the twenty first century, that he lived there for months, and that he saved Desmond's life. He doesn't know how it worked, exactly, but he's certain that the apple did what he asked it to. That it created a third option for Desmond to take. Just because Altair doesn't know what that third option is doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

And for that reason, if for no other, he can keep going. Live his life, whatever that might mean after this point. Nothing is ever going to be the same, but… maybe that's not a bad thing. He gets to his feet and drops the apple into a pouch at his waist. The metal ball is cold and lifeless in his hands, and Altair has no reason to hope that will change anytime soon. For now, at least, he could do with a few months of normal.

**-/-**

**Yet another chapter that didn't get edited before being published (sorry sorry sorry), mostly because I have a bunch of writing I want to get done before I have to take a fanfic break in July for a novel writing binge.**

**On that note, if any of you are interested in writing a novel in a month, I can't recommend campnanowrimo . org (or nanowrimo . org) highly enough- it's a great atmosphere, really fun, and honestly finding out you can write 50,000 words in a month is the best feeling. I wouldn't mention it at all, except I found out about it from someone else on this site six years ago, so here's me passing it forward.**

**/end ramble**

**6/29/14- Resubmited with dates**


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